


Fatherhood

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:36:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6450193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short tales about Fatherhood from Claire, Frank and Jamie's voices. Spoilers - Voyager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fatherhood

**Fatherhood**

**_Claire_ **

I have almost no memory of my parents. They were killed in a car crash when I was very young and therefore only have glimpses of the people that gave me life.

In the beginning Uncle Lamb talked very little of them. That made me sad and sometimes rebellious against him; but there were times when I felt the subject brought him a great deal of pain, and he chose to shelter me against those feelings. He too had lost his closest family and had been left with the mighty task of raising me, which I came to understand was not an easy job.

One night back in England, in the middle of my adolescent years, he was a bit liquored up and I heard him whispering in his room. I walked in silence and placed myself behind the door, noticing there was a small crack allowing me to see into the room. He was holding a picture of my parents and was asking _“Have I done a good job? Was I worth your trust? You have to know that I do love her as a daughter.”_ I moved without a sound to my own room and since that day made sure Quentin Lambert knew I loved him and was grateful of him. He was a father to me when I was left with none. When I lost him in the Blitz I was an orphan twice over and mourned him deeply.

Sometimes I could convince him to tell me stories about my parents, though some resembled fairy tales in which they took the roles of prince and princess. But others were stories of their lives and I knew there was truth among his words.

Of the tales he told me about Julia and Henry Beauchamp I always had one favorite. It was about my father.

My parents tried for a long time to have children without success. They were getting older and hopeless and so my father came to Uncle Lamb, his brother, and asked for help. My uncle was an archeologist and even though I’m not certain he fully believed in magic, he was in contact with so many believes of the ancient world that he knew there were forces to be reckoned with. And so he introduced my father to Sorcha, a _Pellar_ , a wise-woman.

She was very old, although no one could really tell her age. She was born in Scotland but traveled the world and knew many things. She talked with my father, read his dreams and the lines on his left hand. Sorcha told him he was blocked by an _overlooking_ , an evil eye, and therefore could not father a child.

The wise woman told him she could help him conjure it away, but a force so strong always had to be balanced out, and so to give him the power to create life he had to give away something that was precious to him. And so my father gave away his childhood memories, forgot how he met my mother, although still remembered how he loved her.

And nine months after that I was born and my father named me Claire, in honor of the wise woman. Sometimes I wonder what else he gave away to hold me in his arms, only if for the briefest of times.

 

**_Frank_ **

It was middle November and Claire’s pregnancy was almost full term. She had been committed to bed for several weeks now and I avoided her as much as I could.

In the beginning I thought I could forgive Claire and in time eventually forget. Taking her back as my wife was not only the right thing for a gentleman to do, but also the deepest wish of my heart for I loved her still.

But everytime I looked at her swelling belly and the look in her eyes, the longing that was always lingering there, I began to question the wisdom of my decision.

In the middle of one night she began to feel birth pains. I tried to be by her side, even though I knew it wasn’t my hand or my words she wished for. I saw the pain in her face, a pain that went beyond that of the flesh, and felt again the jolt of jealousy. Claire avoided my eyes at every cost and shut down, retreating to a place in her mind where I could not follow her.

The delivery was long and dangerous. Several hours later I found myself holding a tinny bundle. I saw a tuft of red hair and a perfect mouth, drawn in the shape of a little heart.

“So her father has red hair.” I told Claire.

“Yes.” She answered tiredly. I was sitting on a chair next to her bed.

“How are you feeling?”

She shook her head and closed her eyes, but not fast enough to hide away a tear.

“I will take care of you both, you know.” I said. “If you let me.” She remained silent.

“What are we going to name her?” I asked, pretending to be more cheerful than I felt.

“She already has a name.” She whispered, her voice hoarse after screaming and sobbing. “Brianna.”

“Brianna….” I repeated, frowning. Not exactly the prettiest of names. I knew it had something to do with _him_ , to be sure. But like she had been called the baby opened her eyes. They were an undefined shade between grey and blue and were the most magnificent thing I have ever seen. Her little fist curled around my index finger like she was preventing me from leaving, keeping me there with her.

I was lost from that moment. I belonged to her and couldn’t turn away from her had I wished to.

History was always a driving force in my life and for that I knew the importance of genealogy, those family ties that bind us together through the challenges of time and memory. I always wished for a son to carry my name or a daughter to pass along the likeness of a Randall. Instead I ended up with a living memory of my wife’s betrayal, a link forever forged between her and her lover. Even before Brianna came into this world I knew I couldn’t compete with that. I was prepared to tolerate her for Claire’s sake but ended up loving her for herself.

She was my daughter to love. She was the daughter of my heart. I would challenge history itself to be her father.

****

**_Jamie_ **

It was very cold that night in the cave. The world was very silent, wrapped in a cloak of mist, and everything had the quality of a dream. I laid in my usual corner trying hard not to shiver – if I started I knew I couldn’t stop and probably would go shivering to my grave.

My thoughts went to Claire as they so often did when I felt alone and helpless. _Lord_ , I prayed, _that she may be safe. She and the child._

Suddenly it hit me like a thunder. Our child was probably almost born for several months had passed since my parting with Claire. My heart gripped like a closed fist at the thought of Claire all alone delivering our second child. The second time I wouldn’t be with her when she needed me most.

I thought of Faith and the pain we both felt when we lost her. Claire was so strong, but even her wouldn’t have the strength to survive twice to such a loss. I moved restlessly, turning to the other side.

And if it was a dangerous delivery again? The air left my lungs at the image of Claire with her fair skin lying forever still. I clenched my teeth.

When we parted at the stones I meant to die and she would have the hardest part – the task of living with half a heart in her chest. But even death failed me and I faced a lifetime without _them_.

Surrendering I got up and came outside the cave, where I could see a fraction of the sky. It was very dark and there was no moonlight in sight.

Frank Randall. He probably would be by Claire’s side, welcoming _their_ child. I couldn’t help the image of a man, much like Black Jack, holding Claire’s hand and kissing her sweaty temple as a baby cried for the first time. A warm tear came streaming down my face, uninvited.

I felt grateful that she was not alone, as I cannot be with her. But somewhere there was also anger and jealousy of the man who would take my place. He would hold my child and guide her through life and I would be a distant memory, forlorn.

Would she know of me? Would Claire tell our child stories of our time together? Would the lass or lad know how I had loved them, so much that I chose willingly to rip my heart out and be forever without it?

Would I father a son or a daughter? I had been certain it would be a lad, but smiled at the thought of a wee lass with Claire’s hair and amber eyes.

The memory of my father came to my mind, powerful and comforting. In that moment I understood him much better than ever before. All the worries, the sermons, the trashings…but above all the love, so unconditional and binding, that drove him to death at the thought of my own demise. Aye, I could very well relate to that.

Suddenly the moon appeared in the sky and my heart was filled with tenderness and joy. I would live for she lived. I may never meet her but already knew her in my heart, that child that was mine, the culmination of a love so fierce that challenged the veils of time.

“Ye may never know me but I am you father.” I said to the moon. “Welcome, _mo chridhe.”_

I felt warm now, a warmth that came from within, of a secret place that was filled with love and longing. I started whispering a _tàlaidhean_ , a lullaby, as once my mother sang to me.

_“E o hao-o hao o_

_Hao riri o hu o  
Ro-ho i o hi o_

_Gaol ise gaol i_

_Gaol air Anna ni' n Nill_

_Mi dualach mi donn_

_Mi mar chuthaig an coill'_

_Mi mar smeòraich an craoibh_

_Mi gu biorshuilleach binn_

_Mi torrach mi trom_

_Chan ann le balach mo throm_

_Ach leis an lasgaire dhonn_

_Mac fir Bhaile nan Long_

_Leis an eireadh na suinn_

_Leis an diant' an t-òl trom_

_Gaol ise gaol i_

_Gaol air Anna ni' n Nill”_

 

I closed my eyes and saw Claire in my mind. She was sitting on a rocking chair and was weeping as she lulled a little bundle. There was loss in her eyes but also joy.

“Don’t be afraid.” I whispered, as I opened my eyes. “There’s the three of us now.”


End file.
